The Search for Happpiness
by Birchly
Summary: Jenna Lestrade goes to work with her father on the case of the mysterious serial suicides and meets the infamous Sherlock Holmes and his colleague John Watson. She joins them in their crime fighting escapades and finds some true friends.


**Hello my beautiful readers! I just wanted to start out by thanking you for reading this! I hope you like!**

I am Jennifer Ellen Lestrade, and this is the story of Sherlock Holmes. The first day I met him was a pretty good day.

I woke up and got changed into some black jeans, a black fitted blouse, and grabbed my, slightly too large, long black coat that came to my knees when I wore it but it is really rather warm. Then to add a splash a colour I wound a pretty purple scarf around my neck (Yes I can remember exactly what I was wearing). As I continued to get ready I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. A young girl looked back at me. A young girl with large, dark brown eyes like my father, and long red hair like my mother. Don't worry, I'm not one of those pretentious girls who goes running around telling everyone she's beautiful, but even I have to admit I don't look terrible. I stand at about 5"8 and have a willowy figure. I even walk quite gracefully, although I am rather accident prone.

When I was done I skipped downstairs and started getting breakfast ready. You've probably deduced by my last name that my father is DI Greg Lestrade. I looked over my shoulder as he walked in, still in his pyjamas with his hair all rumpled, just as I finished making his coffee. He kissed my head then sat down as I set his coffee down on the table in front of him and started eating my breakfast. He took a large gulp and smiled his thanks.

I finished my breakfast in record time and sat there, bouncing in my chair in anticipation as Dad ate his own cereal at a snail's pace, finally my patience wore thin,

"Hey Dad are we going soon?"

He smiled at my impatience,

"I've still got to get ready Jen, why don't you go and watch one of those box sets your Mum gave you?"

I let out a very long sigh and slumped into the living room, but cheered up as the opening credits of NCIS came on. It was my first day of work experience with my Dad.

We eventually set off, unfortunately in his horrible, ugly police car. We arrived at the office soon after where I nodded hello to Sargent Sally Donovan and pulled an office chair over to Dad's desk so I had something to do until we did something exiting. My Dad smiled when he looked up from his mountain of paper work and saw me spinning around aimlessly,

"I don't think you'd manage to be a cop Jen, too much waiting around."

I smiled back at him and stopped spinning. Just then Sally popped her head round the door,

"There's been another one, Brixton, Loriston Gardens. She left a note."

Both Dad and I nodded and stood up in sync, but Dad held me back as Sally walked away. I looked at him confused and he murmured quietly,

"We're going to have to stop off somewhere on the way there, we're going to need him."

I understood at once, Dad was going to get help from the infamous Sherlock Holmes. I'd never actually met him, but Dad had told me all about him and how he helped out on particularly tricky cases. Like this one.

A few minutes later we pulled up outside 221B Baker Street with lights flashing, I moved to get out of the car but Dad held me back,

"I'm going alone Jen, no don't look at me like that, you will meet him, but right now I need to persuade him to take this case."

I sighed but nodded and leant back in my chair as Dad got out and entered the house. Not long after he was back,

"Is he coming?"

Dad nodded,

"Yes, but he, like you, hates my car. He'll follow us there."

I nodded,

"Okay then, let's go."

By the time we arrived it was getting dark out and the building was surrounded with people and flashing lights. We headed up and Dad started getting into his blue jumpsuit. I pulled on some latex gloves but didn't feel like looking like a moron so left the jumpsuit where it was. While Dad was still changing two men walked in. One was tall and pale, with dark brown curls and ice blue eyes, wearing a long black coat, not unlike mine, and a blue scarf. The other on the other hand was obviously military with short grey hair, a woolly jumper and a limp. The tall one looked at the soldier over his shoulder and gestured at the jumpsuits,

"You need to wear one of these"

Dad looked from the tall one to the soldier,

"Who's this?"

The tall one didn't even look up as he pulled on some latex gloves, but like me, stayed clear of the jumpsuits,

"He's with me"

"But who is he?"

The tall one looked him in the eye now,

"I said he's with me," he looked over at me where I was standing in the corner, "who's this?"

Dad sighed,

"Sherlock, this is my daughter, Jenny Lestrade. Jen this is Sherlock Holmes."

I held out my hand for a handshake,

"Nice to meet you"

Sherlock looked at my hand then looked away. The soldier limped over and grasped my hand in a firm shake,

"John Watson, nice to meet you"

"Same"

He nodded then went back to pulling on the ugly suit. He looked over at Sherlock,

"Aren't you going to put one on?"

Sherlock apparently didn't think this question warranted a reply but instead turned back to Dad,

"So where are we?"

Dad grabbed some latex gloves,

"Upstairs"

We set off up the stairs, Dad first, followed by Sherlock, followed by John with me bringing up the rear. Dad turned and looked at Sherlock over his shoulder,

"I can give you 2 minutes"

Sherlock was pulling on his own latex gloves,

"May need longer"

Dad started filling us in,

"Her name is Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long, some kids found her."

He led us into a room two storeys above ground level. My eyes swept the room, taking in everything. The room was empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner and emergency portable lighting. Scaffolding held up part of the ceiling where a couple of large holes had been knocked through one of the walls. A woman's body lay face down on the bare floorboards at the centre of the room wearing, I grimaced, a bright pink overcoat and matching high heels. Her hands were flat on the ground either side of her head. I watched as Sherlock walked a few steps into the room before stopping, one hand held up in front of himself, and focussing on the corpse. John on the other hand looked at the woman with pain and sadness, definitely a soldier. The two of them and Dad stood there silently for a while. Suddenly Sherlock turned to Dad,

"Shut up."

Dad stared at him in surprise,

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

I smiled as Dad and John exchanged surprised looks, I was starting to like this guy. Sherlock moved slowly forwards to the side of the corpse and I shadowed him. His attention was immediately drawn to the floor by her left hand. The word 'Rache' was scratched there, obviously by the victim as the nails on her middle and index fingers are in a shabby condition compared to the immaculate paint job on the others. Left handed then. 'Rache', I mouthed the word. _Sounds German… _my mind flicked back to German classes at secondary school, _Rache, German for revenge._ But I immediately dismissed that thought, Jennifer here obviously wasn't German. A name then. Instantly _Rachel_ sprang to mind. That mystery solved, I watched as Sherlock squatted beside the body and ran his hand along the back of her coat, then lifted his hand to see the result. Wet. Sherlock then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folding umbrella, checking the folds of the material before inspecting his gloved fingers. Dry. Returning the umbrella to its rightful place Sherlock ran his fingers underneath her collar then looked at his hand. Wet. Not from London then. I checked her legs as Sherlock inspected her jewellery. There were small black splotches on her tights on the lower part of her right leg. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand, smallish by the spread of the splash pattern. Overnight bag, she was staying the night. By this time Sherlock had removed the woman's wedding ring and was inspecting it. The outside was dirty but the inside was clean. Regularly removed, unhappily married, serial adulterer. Sherlock lowered the ring and slid it back onto the woman's finger, then stood up, still looking down at her before smiling in satisfaction. Dad looked at him in expectation,

"Got anything?"

Sherlock looked at him nonchalantly,

"Not much"

He then proceeded to take his gloves of, pull his mobile from his pocked and began to type on it. Anderson, who I hadn't noticed leaning casually in the doorway, spoke up,

"She's German." I rolled my eyes as he continued, "'Rache'; it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something…"

I grinned as Sherlock quickly crossed the room and shut the door in his smug little face saying,

"Yes thank you for your input." He turned and walked further in, returning his attention to his phone. Dad looked confused,

"So she's German?"

I raised an eyebrow,

"Don't be stupid Dad. She is from out of town though"

Sherlock looked up from his phone to give me an approving look, then back down, still looking for something,

"Quite right. Intended to stay in London for one night… "He smiled smugly as he found what he was looking for, "…before returning home to Cardiff." He pocketed his phone, "So far so obvious."

John looked shocked,

"Sorry – obvious?"

Dad looked like he was losing patience,

"What about the message though?"

Sherlock ignored him,

"Doctor Watson and Miss Lestrade, what do you think?"

John frowned,

"Of the message?"

I on the other hand was shocked I was being involved in this. Sherlock sighed,

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

Dad stepped forwards,

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside."

"They won't work with me."

"I'm breaking every rule letting _you_ in here."

Sherlock gave him a level look,

"Yes, because you need me."

Dad stared at him for a moment before lowering his eyes helplessly,

"Yes, I do. God help me."

Sherlock turned back to us,

"Well?"

John looked from the body, to Sherlock, then turned his head towards Dad, silently seeking his permission. Dad sighed tetchily,

"Oh do as he says, help yourself." He opened the door, "Anderson, keep everyone out for a few minutes."

Sherlock and John walked back to the body, Sherlock squatted down on one side, John lowered himself painfully onto one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself. I followed at a distance and remained standing. Sherlock looked over at John,

"Well?"

John replied softly,

"What am I doing here?"

Sherlock answered equally as quiet,

"Helping me make a point."

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

I rolled my eyes, _how long have they known each other?_

"Yeah, well this is more fun."

John looked at him as if he was crazy,

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis but I _was_ hoping you'd go deeper."

I snorted at this and Sherlock looked at me expectantly. I panicked but told him what I'd gathered

"Uh, she often took her wedding ring off, she was, er, unhappily married and a serial adulteress."

Sherlock gave me a small smile and I grinned at him, feeling very pleased with myself. Then Dad walked back in and Sherlock turned his attention back to John. John dragged his other leg down into a kneeling position and leant forward to look closer at the corpse. He put his head near hers and sniffed, straitened a little and lifted her right hand and examined the skin. He looked up at Sherlock,

"Yeah, Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

Sherlock looked at him,

"You know what it was. You've read the papers."

John looked shocked,

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth… "

Dad ran out of patience,

"Sherlock – two minutes I said. I need anything you've got."

Sherlock stood up, leaving John to struggle to his feet,

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock looked at me, as if asking if I had figured this out. I nodded at him slightly. Dad just looked confused,

"Suitcase?"

Sherlock sighed,

"Suitcase yes. She's been married at least ten years, but, as Miss Lestrade said, not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

Dad rolled his eyes,

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up… "

I glared at him,

"He's not making it up Dad."

Sherlock pointed at her left hand,

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the inside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what, or rather who _does_ she remove her rings for? Clearly not _one_ lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

John stared at Sherlock admiringly,

"That's brilliant."

Sherlock just looked at him as I repressed a laugh. John looked embarrassed, "Sorry"

Dad tried to turn the conversation back to the case,

"Cardiff?"

Sherlock looked at him,

"It's obvious isn't it?"

John frowned,

"It's not obvious to me."

Sherlock paused to take a long look at the two of them,

"Dear God, what must it be like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring. Miss Lestrade?"

Dad frowned slightly but I said anyway,

"Her coat is damp, she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours, and her coat collar is damp too, turned up against the wind, but is hasn't been raining or even that windy within that time period."

Sherlock inclined his head,

"Very good, well better than the other two. She also has an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused; not just wind, _strong_ wind – too strong for an umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of the travel time?" He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed us what he was searching earlier. It displayed today's weather for the southern part of Britain, "Cardiff."

John's eyebrows shot up,

"That's fantastic!"

Sherlock turned to him and murmured in a low voice,

"D'you know you do that out loud?"

John looked abashed,

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

Sherlock looked minutely surprised,

"No, it's… fine."

_Doesn't get complemented often_. Dad just looked more frustrated,

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?"

Sherlock span in a circle to look round the room,

"Yes, where is it? She must have a phone or organiser. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing Rachel?"

Sherlock replied _very_ sarcastically,

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it could be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

Dad frowned, but didn't comment at being blatantly insulted, _he's used to it._

"How d'you know there was a suitcase?"

Sherlock pointed to the body where her tights have small black splotches on her right leg,

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was only staying one night." He squatted down again to inspect her legs more closely, "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

Dad just looked at him,

"There wasn't a case."

Sherlock raised his head slowly and frowned up at Dad,

"Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

Immediately Sherlock straitened up and I followed him as he headed for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he began to hurry down the stairs with me hot on his heels,

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

John and Dad followed us out but stopped at the landing. Dad called after us,

"Sherlock, there was no case!"

Sherlock slowed down slightly, but we were still travelling downwards,

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."  
Dad rolled his eyes,

"Right, yeah, thanks. And…?"

Sherlock's eyes lit up,

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings - _ serial_ killings." He held his hands up in delight, "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I _love _those. There's always something to look forward to."

Dad's frown was threatening to become permanent,

"Why are you saying that?"

Sherlock stopped dead and called up,

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case." Sherlock started muttering to himself, "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

John chipped in,

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there."

Sherlock looked back up the stairs,

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes, she'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking…" He trailed off, obviously just realising something, "Oh." His eyes widened and his whole face seemed to light up, "Oh!" He clapped in delight. John looked concerned, or seemed to, we were really far down the stairs by this point,

"Sherlock?"

Dad leaned over the railings,

"What is it, what?"

Sherlock smiled cheerfully to himself,

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

Dad pulled what looked like his usual look of utter frustration,

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're _done_ waiting!" Sherlock started to hurry down the stairs again, "Look at her, really _look_! Houston, we _have_ a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"` We reached the bottom of the stairs and Sherlock was heading for the door when Dad called once more,

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!"

Sherlock quickly pushed past me to yell,

"PINK!" Sherlock then proceeded to grab my hand and practically pull me out of the house after him in his excitement. I just shrugged and went with it, how often do you get to spend the evening with the only consulting detective in the world?

**AN: I just want to thank you again for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it and will try to update again soon :D**

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**Thanks again :D**


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